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[BOOK] Short Stories based on The Book of Dawn and Dusk
brylars
✭✭✭✭
Homilies of Dawn and Dusk
By Priests of the Tribunal Temple in Mournhold
Volume 1
Forward
For nearly two and a half centuries, I have served in the clergy of our holy Temple. In all that time, I have found few literary works that surpass The Book of Dawn and Dusk in its popularity among the faithful. This is understandable, since the sayings therein have lived long in the hearts of our ancestors, passed down to us by the insight of ALMSIVI and the Saints. Long have our people drawn solace and wisdom from those phrases, yet their full understanding wanes.
As each generation passes, and the old tries to instruct the young, the collective wisdom of our people is threatened to diminish. Do not be mistaken - the wisdom is always there, in our Living Gods, and in the spirits who walk with us unseen. But for us, that wisdom is prone to dim, like the radiant flame of an oil lamp whose glass becomes shrouded in ash. Within the living, the guiding light of the Gods and our ancestors steadily becomes concealed in the dust of arrogance and ignorance. Thus, it is necessary for us to continuously cleanse the glass of the lamp.
There are three ways to do this. Of course, no mind can truly fathom the immediate inspiration that occurs in the presence of the Three, where no ignorance can persist. Secondly, we can glean much from speaking directly to our ancestors, though the experience is cold and unpleasant for them. But the third way is perhaps the most practical, and it falls to the hands of the teacher. For we can find creative and new ways to make the wisdom held in Scripture more accessible to our fellow teachers, priests, and youth of the present day.
Homilies of Dawn and Dusk is an example of precisely that. Through the art of story, it leads the reader to rediscover each of our guiding principles. And in doing so, it not only reinforces the lesson of each aphorism, but also clarifies them, avoiding the propagation of any misinterpretations in which the House of Troubles would delight.
I recommend that every member of the Temple read this work, regardless of age or station. I would go so far as to say, on every shelf where The Book of Dawn and Dusk lay open, Homilies should never be far away. I am honored to endorse this work by my friends and fellow priests at the Temple in Mournhold, and they have my blessing.
May the Three bless this work, its authors, and readers. May it bring further wisdom to our people for all ages, so that we may glorify the Three, honor our ancestors, and endure any hardship. The Ending of the Words is ALMSIVI.
— Diviner Ralis Indrano of Necrom
Speak none but good of the Gods
Beneath the gleaming spire of the Tribunal Temple, the gardens provided a tranquil oasis amidst the bustling streets of Mournhold. Amidst the carefully manicured hedges and the soft burble of fountains, three priests walked in contemplative silence. The novice, barely more than a child, wore simple robes of undyed silk, a blank page awaiting the ink of knowledge. Beside him, the acolyte's vestments were a stark contrast - intricately embroidered, shimmering with threads of silver and gold, reflecting the arrogance in his stride. At the rear of the trio, the Diviner moved with a quiet grace, his indigo robes unadorned yet commanding respect through the simple silver brooch at his shoulder that marked his station. Though his face was lined and his hair flecked with gray, his eyes burned with a vital energy that belied any hint of age.
As they strolled, the novice broke the silence. "Acolyte, I struggle to fully grasp the meaning behind the command to 'speak none but good of the Gods'. Is it merely a matter of avoiding blasphemy, lest we attract Their wrath?" He looked up at the acolyte with wide, questioning eyes.
The acolyte smiled, his lips curling. "Ah, child, you would do well to focus your studies on the scriptures. It is clear to any with eyes to see that the Gods are perfection incarnate. To speak ill of Them would be to admit one's own ignorance of Their divine plan."
The Diviner, his eyes twinkling with a deep wisdom, chuckled softly. "Ah, Acolyte, your zeal is commendable, but perhaps you would benefit from a deeper understanding. The young novice asks a wise question." He reached out, his hand patting the novice's shoulder. "To speak none but good of the Gods is not merely a prohibition against blasphemy, though that is part of it. It is an affirmation, a statement of faith."
The novice frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "I do not understand. If the Gods are all-knowing, why must we affirm what is already evident to Them?" He looked between his companions, seeking enlightenment.
The Diviner nodded, his expression warm with approval. "Exactly! You seek wisdom, not simply to recite dogma. The Gods do not require our praise, but we require the act of praise. In acknowledging the perfection of the Tribunal, we acknowledge the imperfection that is the natural state of all else. It is a reminder of the gulf that separates the mundane from the divine."
The acolyte scowled, his face darkening. "But Diviner, what of those who would seek to harm the Tribunal? The Ashlanders with their false prophecy, the heretic Emperor... surely it is righteous to curse those who would profane the sacred?" His voice was heated, trembling with righteous indignation.
The Diviner sighed, his shoulders sagging beneath his indigo robes. "Ah, Acolyte, this is where your studies have failed you. The Tribunal is beyond our petty notions of harm or benefit. Vivec endures the suffering of the mortal form, and in that is His strength. Sotha Sil weaves all threads, even those of seeming darkness, into the greater tapestry. And Almalexia..." He paused, his eyes clouding, "...the Mother's heart bleeds for all Her children, even those who would seek to strike Them down."
The novice gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "Then... even the heretics and the unbelievers... we must speak good of them as well?" He looked at the Diviner as if he had spoken madness.
The Diviner smiled sadly, his eyes reflecting the weight of years. "Not for their sake, child, but for ours. To curse another is to invite a sliver of darkness into one's own soul. The Gods are the embodiment of all that is good, all that is noble. To speak none but good is to cultivate those qualities within ourselves. It is a discipline, a path."
The acolyte scowled, his lips pressed into a thin line, but for once, he was silent.
The Diviner placed a gentle hand on the novice's shoulder. "Do not be discouraged by the seeming complexity of the Way. It is a lifelong journey, one of constant learning and self-refinement. And always remember, the Gods are not served by mindless obedience, but by the honest seeking of wisdom." He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Now, let us take a turn about the gardens, and reflect on the wisdom we have discussed."
We can have no opinions about Truth
In the dimly lit classroom, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and the flickering glow of candles, the Diviner sat cross-legged on a low dais, his indigo robes a stark contrast against the drab stone. Before him, priests of varying ranks sat on worn benches, their eyes fixed intently upon their teacher. The novice, his brow furrowed in concentration, raised a hesitant hand.
"Diviner, might I ask a question?" His voice trembled slightly, a note of uncertainty. "We are often told that 'we can have no opinions about Truth.' But... what, then, is Truth?"
The acolyte snorted, a derisive smile twisting his lips. "Really, novice, have you not even studied the fundamental teachings? Truth is the nature of the Gods, Their perfection, Their unwavering constancy in a world of flux."
The Diviner, his face a mask of calm patience, held up a hand, forestalling the novice's response. "Acolyte, your words are... not incorrect, yet they barely scratch the surface. Truth cannot be reduced to a simple definition, for it is a well with no bottom, a sea without shores." He leaned forward, his eyes burning with an inner intensity. "Truth is not merely the factual nature of the world, but the underlying essence that gives it meaning. It is the thread that weaves all of existence into a cohesive whole."
The novice frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "I... think I am beginning to understand. Truth is like the will of the Gods, a force beyond our comprehension that shapes all else."
The Diviner nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Exactly, child! You grasp the essence. And it is precisely because Truth is beyond mortal comprehension that we can have no opinions about it. Opinions imply judgment, comparison, and these are the tools of the finite mind. Truth simply is, untouched by our petty perceptions."
The acolyte frowned, his brow furrowed. "But Diviner, if we cannot know Truth, then what is the purpose of our studies, our prayers? Is it not a futile endeavor, chasing a goal that forever eludes us?"
The Diviner chuckled. "Ah, Acolyte, this is where your arrogance blinds you. The journey is the destination. In seeking Truth, we refine ourselves, burnishing our souls like gold in the fire. It is not about attaining some final understanding, for there is no end, only the endless unfolding of the Way."
The novice nodded, a look of dawning comprehension on his face. "I see. It is the pursuit of wisdom, the constant striving to better reflect the perfection of the Gods in our own lives."
The Diviner placed a hand on the novice's shoulder, his eyes warm with approval. "Exactly, child. And in that pursuit, we find our purpose, our meaning. The nature of Truth remains a mystery, but the effects of the search are very real indeed."
The acolyte, his lips pressed into a thin line, remained silent, his gaze turned inward in reflection. The novice, however, looked at the Diviner with shining eyes, a newfound eagerness in his voice. "Then let us continue our studies, Diviner, that we may walk the Way with open hearts and minds."
The Diviner smiled, a soft laugh escaping him. "Indeed, child. Let us delve deeper into the mystery, ever seeking, ever growing. For in the pursuit of Truth lies the very purpose of our existence."
Rumors flow from the House of Troubles
As the Diviner, novice, and acolyte strolled through the bustling Royal Bazaar of Mournhold, a gaunt figure emerged from the crowd, his eyes pleading. "Alms, good Muthseras, a coin for a starving Mer?" he begged, his voice a hollow rasp.
The acolyte scowled, his gaze passing over the beggar as if he were but a shadow on the ground. The novice, however, hesitated only a moment before reaching into his purse and pressing a coin into the beggar's grimy hand. "May the Gods watch over you, brother," the novice murmured.
The Diviner, who had been watching the exchange with a quiet smile, reached out to place a hand on the beggar's shoulder. "May the light of the Tribunal guide you on your path, and may hope bloom in your heart," he intoned, his voice a warm blessing.
The beggar's eyes widened, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face before he bobbed his head in thanks and scurried off into the crowd. The novice watched him go, a look of satisfaction on his face. "It is but a small act, but perhaps it will bring some measure of relief."
The acolyte snorted, shaking his head. "Foolishness, novice. I have heard rumors that that beggar lives a life of luxury, his begging, mere theater to line his pockets."
The novice looked at him with uncertainty, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "But... he seemed so desperate. And even if the rumors are true, perhaps the coin will do some good, even if not as we intended."
The Diviner, who had been walking in silence, his eyes observing the exchange, spoke up. "Ah, my young friends, this brings to mind the old saying: 'Rumors flow from the House of Troubles.' We must ever be wary of the whispers that seek to sow discord and doubt."
The acolyte snorted. "The House of Troubles is a metaphor, Diviner. The saying merely means that rumors breed strife."
The Diviner chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Is it, Acolyte? Or does it point to a deeper truth? The Daedric Princes of the House of Troubles ever seek to test our resolve, to cloud our minds with uncertainty. Rumors, gossip, these are the weapons they wield."
The novice frowned, his brow furrowed. "But... how are we to know truth from falsehood, then? The beggar seemed a beggar, and yet..."
The Diviner placed a hand on the novice's shoulder. "Exactly, child. Appearances deceive, and rumors are but smoke on the wind. It is the intention behind the action that holds weight. You gave with a pure heart, and that is what matters. The outcome was never yours to control."
As they spoke, they chanced to glance back at the beggar. He was now joined by two pitifully thin children, their eyes gleaming with excitement as he showed them his bounty. The novice's eyes widened, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Perhaps, Acolyte, the rumors were but a test, and the truth is that our coin brought joy to those in need."
The acolyte pursed his lips and said nothing more, his gaze fixed on the beggar and his children. The Diviner, however, merely smiled, his eyes reflecting a deep wisdom. "In a world of uncertainty, we can only act with the light of our own conscience. And sometimes, it is in the simplest of acts that we find the greatest of truths."
Count only the happy hours
On a day when the sun shone brightly, its warm rays a balm to the soul, many of the young priests of the Temple took it as a "sign" from the Gods - a sign that they should set aside their dusty tomes and take a break from their rigorous studies. And so, they made their way to the nearby lake, its cool waters a siren's call on such a beautiful day.
The Diviner, the acolyte, and the novice arrived at the lake's shore, the sound of laughter and splashing greeting them. The other young priests were already in the water, their usual reserve shed like their robes on the grassy bank. The Diviner, his eyes twinkling with amusement, looked at his two companions. "Why do you not join the others? Does the joy of the day not touch your hearts as well?"
The acolyte scowled, his arms crossed over his chest. "We are priests, Diviner. We must ever be examples of piety and dedication. To frolic in the water like common children is... unseemly." Yet, despite his words, his gaze kept drifting to the others, a flicker of longing in his eyes.
The novice, ever eager to please, nodded in agreement. "Yes, Diviner. There is always more to be learned, more prayers to be said. We cannot afford such frivolity."
The Diviner chuckled, a low rumble. "Ah, my young friends, you forget the wisdom of the saying: 'Count only the happy hours.'" He smiled, his eyes reflecting a deep warmth. "In times of austerity and trial, it is all the more important to seek out those moments of joy, to embrace them and let them sustain us. For it is in those happy hours that we find the strength to persevere."
He waved a hand, his expression playful. "Go, then. Shed your robes and your reserve. Let the day's joy wash over you."
The acolyte and the novice exchanged a look, then broke into wide smiles. With a whoop of laughter, they shed their priestly robes, revealing the young men beneath. The acolyte, ever mindful of his station, pointed at the novice. "I outrank you, so I shall enter the water first."
The novice merely grinned. "Perhaps, brother, but you are also slower." And with that, he took off running, the acolyte hot on his heels. They launched themselves into the air, splashing down into the water with a chorus of laughter and screams of delight.
The Diviner watched them, a warm smile on his face, his eyes shining with a paternal affection. He sat down on the grassy bank, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. "Yes," he murmured to himself, "on a day like this, let us indeed count only the happy hours."
No child has a sinner's heart
The three priests made their way through the bustling Royal Bazaar, their destination a merchant of writing supplies. The acolyte walked with a stiff spine, his face a mask of anger. Beside him, the novice kept his gaze downcast, a guilty flush rising to his cheeks. The Diviner, ever observant, walked in silence, his eyes fixed on the pair.
The tension was palpable, a living thing that hung in the air between them. The novice had played a prank on the acolyte the day before, replacing his ink with the invisible variety. By morning, the acolyte's painstaking work had vanished from the parchment, leaving him with nothing.
As they turned a corner, the Diviner pointed ahead. "We are almost there, my young friends." But his words only seemed to inflame the acolyte's ire. "We would not have to be here at all," he snapped, "if the novice had not seen fit to waste my time with his foolishness."
The novice merely shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "I said I was sorry," he whispered, then took off running, disappearing into the crowd. The Diviner and the acolyte halted, watching him go. The acolyte let out a frustrated sigh.
The acolyte's face was a mask of conflicting emotions, anger warring with a dawning realization. "An apology will not bring back all that I lost," he muttered, yet his voice held a note of softening.
The Diviner placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Remember, Acolyte, the wisdom of the saying: 'No child has a sinner's heart.' A sinner's heart is one that finds joy in darkness, in the suffering of others. It is a heart that rebels against the light, that seeks to tear down rather than build up. But a child's heart... ah, a child's heart is different. It is a heart that finds joy in learning, in growth, in the simple act of connection with others. It is a heart that seeks the truth, even if that truth is sometimes painful."
He looked at the acolyte, his eyes serious. "The novice thinks of you as a friend, as a brother. His prank, though foolish, was not born of malice, but of a desire to break the monotony of the day. It was the act of a child, not a sinner."
The acolyte looked at him, his eyes searching. "I... I was starting to think of him as a friend as well," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "And his betrayal hurt all the more for it."
The Diviner nodded, his expression warm. "Tell him the truth and speak exactly what is in your heart." He gestured to where the novice waited, a forlorn figure amidst the bustling crowd. "Go to him, Acolyte. Let forgiveness wash away this strife. Let it remind you both that you are not yet jaded by the trials of the world, that you still possess the innocence of a child's heart."
The acolyte took a deep breath, then nodded. He walked towards the novice, his strides measured. When he reached the younger priest's side, he gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Their conversation was unheard, lost in the din of the bazaar, but it was clear in their body language that forgiveness had been offered and accepted.
The novice's face lit up with a relieved smile, and he pointed excitedly towards their original destination. The acolyte followed in his wake, a small smile playing on his lips. The Diviner watched them go, a warm sense of satisfaction in his heart.
Let faith be your only law
Days later, the acolyte and the novice found themselves in the private quarters of the Diviner, surrounded by shelves of dusty tomes and the comforting scent of old parchment. They sat cross-legged on plush cushions, steaming cups of tea cradled in their hands. The atmosphere was one of relaxed camaraderie, the earlier tension forgotten in the face of shared forgiveness.
The acolyte took a sip of his tea, then set his cup aside. "I have been working on rewriting my disappearing essay," he mentioned, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at the novice. The younger priest blushed, a nervous giggle escaping him.
The acolyte continued, "I chose to explore the meaning behind the saying: 'Let faith be your only law.'" He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. "At first, I thought it meant that those with faith should disregard the mundane laws of the land, that their belief alone should guide their actions."
The novice nodded vigorously. "Yes, that is what I would have thought as well. If one has faith, then surely that is enough, and the laws of the land are irrelevant."
The acolyte chuckled, shaking his head. "I once thought that, novice, but further reflection led me to a different understanding. Faith should be the inspiration behind the law, the moral framework that gives it soul and meaning. Law is the foundation of civilization, the structure that governs our interactions and maintains order. But without faith to guide it, law becomes empty and cold, a set of soulless rules devoid of compassion or wisdom."
He leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "In the end, I came to realize that it is the balance between faith and law that allows a civilization to truly flourish. Without faith, we have no law, and without law, we have only chaos and darkness."
The novice looked at him, his eyes wide with newfound understanding. "I see," he murmured. "So the saying is not telling us to disregard the law, but to let our faith shape the laws we create and uphold."
The acolyte nodded, a warm smile on his face. "Exactly, brother. Faith and law, they are two sides of the same coin, each necessary for the other to have true meaning."
The Diviner, who had been watching the exchange with a quiet smile, finally spoke up. "I must say, Acolyte, I have learned something new today." He raised his cup in a silent toast. "Your words have given me much to consider."
The acolyte blushed, a look of pleased surprise on his face.
The Diviner smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Indeed, my young friend. Sometimes, it is in the casual conversation over a cup of tea that we gain the greatest of insights."
Fear of the fool is the beginning of wisdom
The Diviner stood at the pulpit, his indigo robes a stark contrast against the gleaming silver of the Tribunal altar. Before him, the congregation of faithful Dunmer sat in rapt attention, their blood red eyes fixed upon their spiritual leader. The air was heavy with the scent of burning incense, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows on the stone walls.
"My brothers and sisters in the faith," the Diviner began, his voice a warm rumble that filled the hallowed space. "Today, I wish to speak on a saying that may seem paradoxical at first glance: 'Fear of the fool is the beginning of wisdom.' For are we not taught to pity the fool, to guide him on the path of righteousness? And yet, here we are told to fear him. But what does it mean to fear the fool, and how can this fear be the seed from which wisdom grows?"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the congregation. "The fool is not merely the ignorant, though ignorance is often a part of his nature. The fool is he who acts without thought, who follows the whims of his heart without the tempering of reason. He is the one who rebels against the established order, not out of a desire for positive change, but out of a childish desire to smash and destroy. And it is this reckless disregard for the consequences of his actions that we must fear."
The Diviner's hands grasped the edges of the pulpit, his knuckles white with intensity. "For the fool, in his arrogance and shortsightedness, can bring about great destruction, not just upon himself, but upon all those around him. His actions can set in motion a chain of events that leads to chaos and strife. And it is the fear of being led astray by such folly, the fear of allowing it to gain a foothold in our hearts and in our society, that must be the beginning of our wisdom."
He looked out at the congregation, his eyes burning with a deep conviction. "Wisdom is not merely knowledge, my friends. Wisdom is discernment, the ability to see the potential consequences of our actions, to weigh the possible outcomes. It is the ability to balance our passions with reason, our faith with the realities of the world. And it is the fear of the fool, the fear of falling into his trap of thoughtless action, that spurs us to cultivate this wisdom within ourselves."
The Diviner took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Let us not forget the lessons of our history, my brothers and sisters. Let us not forget the times when folly, masquerading as wisdom, led our people down the path of destruction. Let us fear the fool, not with a mindless terror, but with the fear of recognition, the fear of seeing our own potential for folly reflected in his actions. For it is in that fear that we will find the strength to always choose the path of wisdom, to always act with the thoughtfulness and compassion that the Tribunal demands of us. The Ending of the Words is ALMSIVI."
By Priests of the Tribunal Temple in Mournhold
Volume 1
Forward
For nearly two and a half centuries, I have served in the clergy of our holy Temple. In all that time, I have found few literary works that surpass The Book of Dawn and Dusk in its popularity among the faithful. This is understandable, since the sayings therein have lived long in the hearts of our ancestors, passed down to us by the insight of ALMSIVI and the Saints. Long have our people drawn solace and wisdom from those phrases, yet their full understanding wanes.
As each generation passes, and the old tries to instruct the young, the collective wisdom of our people is threatened to diminish. Do not be mistaken - the wisdom is always there, in our Living Gods, and in the spirits who walk with us unseen. But for us, that wisdom is prone to dim, like the radiant flame of an oil lamp whose glass becomes shrouded in ash. Within the living, the guiding light of the Gods and our ancestors steadily becomes concealed in the dust of arrogance and ignorance. Thus, it is necessary for us to continuously cleanse the glass of the lamp.
There are three ways to do this. Of course, no mind can truly fathom the immediate inspiration that occurs in the presence of the Three, where no ignorance can persist. Secondly, we can glean much from speaking directly to our ancestors, though the experience is cold and unpleasant for them. But the third way is perhaps the most practical, and it falls to the hands of the teacher. For we can find creative and new ways to make the wisdom held in Scripture more accessible to our fellow teachers, priests, and youth of the present day.
Homilies of Dawn and Dusk is an example of precisely that. Through the art of story, it leads the reader to rediscover each of our guiding principles. And in doing so, it not only reinforces the lesson of each aphorism, but also clarifies them, avoiding the propagation of any misinterpretations in which the House of Troubles would delight.
I recommend that every member of the Temple read this work, regardless of age or station. I would go so far as to say, on every shelf where The Book of Dawn and Dusk lay open, Homilies should never be far away. I am honored to endorse this work by my friends and fellow priests at the Temple in Mournhold, and they have my blessing.
May the Three bless this work, its authors, and readers. May it bring further wisdom to our people for all ages, so that we may glorify the Three, honor our ancestors, and endure any hardship. The Ending of the Words is ALMSIVI.
— Diviner Ralis Indrano of Necrom
Speak none but good of the Gods
Beneath the gleaming spire of the Tribunal Temple, the gardens provided a tranquil oasis amidst the bustling streets of Mournhold. Amidst the carefully manicured hedges and the soft burble of fountains, three priests walked in contemplative silence. The novice, barely more than a child, wore simple robes of undyed silk, a blank page awaiting the ink of knowledge. Beside him, the acolyte's vestments were a stark contrast - intricately embroidered, shimmering with threads of silver and gold, reflecting the arrogance in his stride. At the rear of the trio, the Diviner moved with a quiet grace, his indigo robes unadorned yet commanding respect through the simple silver brooch at his shoulder that marked his station. Though his face was lined and his hair flecked with gray, his eyes burned with a vital energy that belied any hint of age.
As they strolled, the novice broke the silence. "Acolyte, I struggle to fully grasp the meaning behind the command to 'speak none but good of the Gods'. Is it merely a matter of avoiding blasphemy, lest we attract Their wrath?" He looked up at the acolyte with wide, questioning eyes.
The acolyte smiled, his lips curling. "Ah, child, you would do well to focus your studies on the scriptures. It is clear to any with eyes to see that the Gods are perfection incarnate. To speak ill of Them would be to admit one's own ignorance of Their divine plan."
The Diviner, his eyes twinkling with a deep wisdom, chuckled softly. "Ah, Acolyte, your zeal is commendable, but perhaps you would benefit from a deeper understanding. The young novice asks a wise question." He reached out, his hand patting the novice's shoulder. "To speak none but good of the Gods is not merely a prohibition against blasphemy, though that is part of it. It is an affirmation, a statement of faith."
The novice frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "I do not understand. If the Gods are all-knowing, why must we affirm what is already evident to Them?" He looked between his companions, seeking enlightenment.
The Diviner nodded, his expression warm with approval. "Exactly! You seek wisdom, not simply to recite dogma. The Gods do not require our praise, but we require the act of praise. In acknowledging the perfection of the Tribunal, we acknowledge the imperfection that is the natural state of all else. It is a reminder of the gulf that separates the mundane from the divine."
The acolyte scowled, his face darkening. "But Diviner, what of those who would seek to harm the Tribunal? The Ashlanders with their false prophecy, the heretic Emperor... surely it is righteous to curse those who would profane the sacred?" His voice was heated, trembling with righteous indignation.
The Diviner sighed, his shoulders sagging beneath his indigo robes. "Ah, Acolyte, this is where your studies have failed you. The Tribunal is beyond our petty notions of harm or benefit. Vivec endures the suffering of the mortal form, and in that is His strength. Sotha Sil weaves all threads, even those of seeming darkness, into the greater tapestry. And Almalexia..." He paused, his eyes clouding, "...the Mother's heart bleeds for all Her children, even those who would seek to strike Them down."
The novice gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "Then... even the heretics and the unbelievers... we must speak good of them as well?" He looked at the Diviner as if he had spoken madness.
The Diviner smiled sadly, his eyes reflecting the weight of years. "Not for their sake, child, but for ours. To curse another is to invite a sliver of darkness into one's own soul. The Gods are the embodiment of all that is good, all that is noble. To speak none but good is to cultivate those qualities within ourselves. It is a discipline, a path."
The acolyte scowled, his lips pressed into a thin line, but for once, he was silent.
The Diviner placed a gentle hand on the novice's shoulder. "Do not be discouraged by the seeming complexity of the Way. It is a lifelong journey, one of constant learning and self-refinement. And always remember, the Gods are not served by mindless obedience, but by the honest seeking of wisdom." He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Now, let us take a turn about the gardens, and reflect on the wisdom we have discussed."
We can have no opinions about Truth
In the dimly lit classroom, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and the flickering glow of candles, the Diviner sat cross-legged on a low dais, his indigo robes a stark contrast against the drab stone. Before him, priests of varying ranks sat on worn benches, their eyes fixed intently upon their teacher. The novice, his brow furrowed in concentration, raised a hesitant hand.
"Diviner, might I ask a question?" His voice trembled slightly, a note of uncertainty. "We are often told that 'we can have no opinions about Truth.' But... what, then, is Truth?"
The acolyte snorted, a derisive smile twisting his lips. "Really, novice, have you not even studied the fundamental teachings? Truth is the nature of the Gods, Their perfection, Their unwavering constancy in a world of flux."
The Diviner, his face a mask of calm patience, held up a hand, forestalling the novice's response. "Acolyte, your words are... not incorrect, yet they barely scratch the surface. Truth cannot be reduced to a simple definition, for it is a well with no bottom, a sea without shores." He leaned forward, his eyes burning with an inner intensity. "Truth is not merely the factual nature of the world, but the underlying essence that gives it meaning. It is the thread that weaves all of existence into a cohesive whole."
The novice frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "I... think I am beginning to understand. Truth is like the will of the Gods, a force beyond our comprehension that shapes all else."
The Diviner nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Exactly, child! You grasp the essence. And it is precisely because Truth is beyond mortal comprehension that we can have no opinions about it. Opinions imply judgment, comparison, and these are the tools of the finite mind. Truth simply is, untouched by our petty perceptions."
The acolyte frowned, his brow furrowed. "But Diviner, if we cannot know Truth, then what is the purpose of our studies, our prayers? Is it not a futile endeavor, chasing a goal that forever eludes us?"
The Diviner chuckled. "Ah, Acolyte, this is where your arrogance blinds you. The journey is the destination. In seeking Truth, we refine ourselves, burnishing our souls like gold in the fire. It is not about attaining some final understanding, for there is no end, only the endless unfolding of the Way."
The novice nodded, a look of dawning comprehension on his face. "I see. It is the pursuit of wisdom, the constant striving to better reflect the perfection of the Gods in our own lives."
The Diviner placed a hand on the novice's shoulder, his eyes warm with approval. "Exactly, child. And in that pursuit, we find our purpose, our meaning. The nature of Truth remains a mystery, but the effects of the search are very real indeed."
The acolyte, his lips pressed into a thin line, remained silent, his gaze turned inward in reflection. The novice, however, looked at the Diviner with shining eyes, a newfound eagerness in his voice. "Then let us continue our studies, Diviner, that we may walk the Way with open hearts and minds."
The Diviner smiled, a soft laugh escaping him. "Indeed, child. Let us delve deeper into the mystery, ever seeking, ever growing. For in the pursuit of Truth lies the very purpose of our existence."
Rumors flow from the House of Troubles
As the Diviner, novice, and acolyte strolled through the bustling Royal Bazaar of Mournhold, a gaunt figure emerged from the crowd, his eyes pleading. "Alms, good Muthseras, a coin for a starving Mer?" he begged, his voice a hollow rasp.
The acolyte scowled, his gaze passing over the beggar as if he were but a shadow on the ground. The novice, however, hesitated only a moment before reaching into his purse and pressing a coin into the beggar's grimy hand. "May the Gods watch over you, brother," the novice murmured.
The Diviner, who had been watching the exchange with a quiet smile, reached out to place a hand on the beggar's shoulder. "May the light of the Tribunal guide you on your path, and may hope bloom in your heart," he intoned, his voice a warm blessing.
The beggar's eyes widened, a look of genuine surprise crossing his face before he bobbed his head in thanks and scurried off into the crowd. The novice watched him go, a look of satisfaction on his face. "It is but a small act, but perhaps it will bring some measure of relief."
The acolyte snorted, shaking his head. "Foolishness, novice. I have heard rumors that that beggar lives a life of luxury, his begging, mere theater to line his pockets."
The novice looked at him with uncertainty, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. "But... he seemed so desperate. And even if the rumors are true, perhaps the coin will do some good, even if not as we intended."
The Diviner, who had been walking in silence, his eyes observing the exchange, spoke up. "Ah, my young friends, this brings to mind the old saying: 'Rumors flow from the House of Troubles.' We must ever be wary of the whispers that seek to sow discord and doubt."
The acolyte snorted. "The House of Troubles is a metaphor, Diviner. The saying merely means that rumors breed strife."
The Diviner chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "Is it, Acolyte? Or does it point to a deeper truth? The Daedric Princes of the House of Troubles ever seek to test our resolve, to cloud our minds with uncertainty. Rumors, gossip, these are the weapons they wield."
The novice frowned, his brow furrowed. "But... how are we to know truth from falsehood, then? The beggar seemed a beggar, and yet..."
The Diviner placed a hand on the novice's shoulder. "Exactly, child. Appearances deceive, and rumors are but smoke on the wind. It is the intention behind the action that holds weight. You gave with a pure heart, and that is what matters. The outcome was never yours to control."
As they spoke, they chanced to glance back at the beggar. He was now joined by two pitifully thin children, their eyes gleaming with excitement as he showed them his bounty. The novice's eyes widened, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Perhaps, Acolyte, the rumors were but a test, and the truth is that our coin brought joy to those in need."
The acolyte pursed his lips and said nothing more, his gaze fixed on the beggar and his children. The Diviner, however, merely smiled, his eyes reflecting a deep wisdom. "In a world of uncertainty, we can only act with the light of our own conscience. And sometimes, it is in the simplest of acts that we find the greatest of truths."
Count only the happy hours
On a day when the sun shone brightly, its warm rays a balm to the soul, many of the young priests of the Temple took it as a "sign" from the Gods - a sign that they should set aside their dusty tomes and take a break from their rigorous studies. And so, they made their way to the nearby lake, its cool waters a siren's call on such a beautiful day.
The Diviner, the acolyte, and the novice arrived at the lake's shore, the sound of laughter and splashing greeting them. The other young priests were already in the water, their usual reserve shed like their robes on the grassy bank. The Diviner, his eyes twinkling with amusement, looked at his two companions. "Why do you not join the others? Does the joy of the day not touch your hearts as well?"
The acolyte scowled, his arms crossed over his chest. "We are priests, Diviner. We must ever be examples of piety and dedication. To frolic in the water like common children is... unseemly." Yet, despite his words, his gaze kept drifting to the others, a flicker of longing in his eyes.
The novice, ever eager to please, nodded in agreement. "Yes, Diviner. There is always more to be learned, more prayers to be said. We cannot afford such frivolity."
The Diviner chuckled, a low rumble. "Ah, my young friends, you forget the wisdom of the saying: 'Count only the happy hours.'" He smiled, his eyes reflecting a deep warmth. "In times of austerity and trial, it is all the more important to seek out those moments of joy, to embrace them and let them sustain us. For it is in those happy hours that we find the strength to persevere."
He waved a hand, his expression playful. "Go, then. Shed your robes and your reserve. Let the day's joy wash over you."
The acolyte and the novice exchanged a look, then broke into wide smiles. With a whoop of laughter, they shed their priestly robes, revealing the young men beneath. The acolyte, ever mindful of his station, pointed at the novice. "I outrank you, so I shall enter the water first."
The novice merely grinned. "Perhaps, brother, but you are also slower." And with that, he took off running, the acolyte hot on his heels. They launched themselves into the air, splashing down into the water with a chorus of laughter and screams of delight.
The Diviner watched them, a warm smile on his face, his eyes shining with a paternal affection. He sat down on the grassy bank, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. "Yes," he murmured to himself, "on a day like this, let us indeed count only the happy hours."
No child has a sinner's heart
The three priests made their way through the bustling Royal Bazaar, their destination a merchant of writing supplies. The acolyte walked with a stiff spine, his face a mask of anger. Beside him, the novice kept his gaze downcast, a guilty flush rising to his cheeks. The Diviner, ever observant, walked in silence, his eyes fixed on the pair.
The tension was palpable, a living thing that hung in the air between them. The novice had played a prank on the acolyte the day before, replacing his ink with the invisible variety. By morning, the acolyte's painstaking work had vanished from the parchment, leaving him with nothing.
As they turned a corner, the Diviner pointed ahead. "We are almost there, my young friends." But his words only seemed to inflame the acolyte's ire. "We would not have to be here at all," he snapped, "if the novice had not seen fit to waste my time with his foolishness."
The novice merely shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "I said I was sorry," he whispered, then took off running, disappearing into the crowd. The Diviner and the acolyte halted, watching him go. The acolyte let out a frustrated sigh.
The acolyte's face was a mask of conflicting emotions, anger warring with a dawning realization. "An apology will not bring back all that I lost," he muttered, yet his voice held a note of softening.
The Diviner placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Remember, Acolyte, the wisdom of the saying: 'No child has a sinner's heart.' A sinner's heart is one that finds joy in darkness, in the suffering of others. It is a heart that rebels against the light, that seeks to tear down rather than build up. But a child's heart... ah, a child's heart is different. It is a heart that finds joy in learning, in growth, in the simple act of connection with others. It is a heart that seeks the truth, even if that truth is sometimes painful."
He looked at the acolyte, his eyes serious. "The novice thinks of you as a friend, as a brother. His prank, though foolish, was not born of malice, but of a desire to break the monotony of the day. It was the act of a child, not a sinner."
The acolyte looked at him, his eyes searching. "I... I was starting to think of him as a friend as well," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "And his betrayal hurt all the more for it."
The Diviner nodded, his expression warm. "Tell him the truth and speak exactly what is in your heart." He gestured to where the novice waited, a forlorn figure amidst the bustling crowd. "Go to him, Acolyte. Let forgiveness wash away this strife. Let it remind you both that you are not yet jaded by the trials of the world, that you still possess the innocence of a child's heart."
The acolyte took a deep breath, then nodded. He walked towards the novice, his strides measured. When he reached the younger priest's side, he gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Their conversation was unheard, lost in the din of the bazaar, but it was clear in their body language that forgiveness had been offered and accepted.
The novice's face lit up with a relieved smile, and he pointed excitedly towards their original destination. The acolyte followed in his wake, a small smile playing on his lips. The Diviner watched them go, a warm sense of satisfaction in his heart.
Let faith be your only law
Days later, the acolyte and the novice found themselves in the private quarters of the Diviner, surrounded by shelves of dusty tomes and the comforting scent of old parchment. They sat cross-legged on plush cushions, steaming cups of tea cradled in their hands. The atmosphere was one of relaxed camaraderie, the earlier tension forgotten in the face of shared forgiveness.
The acolyte took a sip of his tea, then set his cup aside. "I have been working on rewriting my disappearing essay," he mentioned, a smirk playing on his lips as he glanced at the novice. The younger priest blushed, a nervous giggle escaping him.
The acolyte continued, "I chose to explore the meaning behind the saying: 'Let faith be your only law.'" He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. "At first, I thought it meant that those with faith should disregard the mundane laws of the land, that their belief alone should guide their actions."
The novice nodded vigorously. "Yes, that is what I would have thought as well. If one has faith, then surely that is enough, and the laws of the land are irrelevant."
The acolyte chuckled, shaking his head. "I once thought that, novice, but further reflection led me to a different understanding. Faith should be the inspiration behind the law, the moral framework that gives it soul and meaning. Law is the foundation of civilization, the structure that governs our interactions and maintains order. But without faith to guide it, law becomes empty and cold, a set of soulless rules devoid of compassion or wisdom."
He leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "In the end, I came to realize that it is the balance between faith and law that allows a civilization to truly flourish. Without faith, we have no law, and without law, we have only chaos and darkness."
The novice looked at him, his eyes wide with newfound understanding. "I see," he murmured. "So the saying is not telling us to disregard the law, but to let our faith shape the laws we create and uphold."
The acolyte nodded, a warm smile on his face. "Exactly, brother. Faith and law, they are two sides of the same coin, each necessary for the other to have true meaning."
The Diviner, who had been watching the exchange with a quiet smile, finally spoke up. "I must say, Acolyte, I have learned something new today." He raised his cup in a silent toast. "Your words have given me much to consider."
The acolyte blushed, a look of pleased surprise on his face.
The Diviner smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Indeed, my young friend. Sometimes, it is in the casual conversation over a cup of tea that we gain the greatest of insights."
Fear of the fool is the beginning of wisdom
The Diviner stood at the pulpit, his indigo robes a stark contrast against the gleaming silver of the Tribunal altar. Before him, the congregation of faithful Dunmer sat in rapt attention, their blood red eyes fixed upon their spiritual leader. The air was heavy with the scent of burning incense, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows on the stone walls.
"My brothers and sisters in the faith," the Diviner began, his voice a warm rumble that filled the hallowed space. "Today, I wish to speak on a saying that may seem paradoxical at first glance: 'Fear of the fool is the beginning of wisdom.' For are we not taught to pity the fool, to guide him on the path of righteousness? And yet, here we are told to fear him. But what does it mean to fear the fool, and how can this fear be the seed from which wisdom grows?"
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the congregation. "The fool is not merely the ignorant, though ignorance is often a part of his nature. The fool is he who acts without thought, who follows the whims of his heart without the tempering of reason. He is the one who rebels against the established order, not out of a desire for positive change, but out of a childish desire to smash and destroy. And it is this reckless disregard for the consequences of his actions that we must fear."
The Diviner's hands grasped the edges of the pulpit, his knuckles white with intensity. "For the fool, in his arrogance and shortsightedness, can bring about great destruction, not just upon himself, but upon all those around him. His actions can set in motion a chain of events that leads to chaos and strife. And it is the fear of being led astray by such folly, the fear of allowing it to gain a foothold in our hearts and in our society, that must be the beginning of our wisdom."
He looked out at the congregation, his eyes burning with a deep conviction. "Wisdom is not merely knowledge, my friends. Wisdom is discernment, the ability to see the potential consequences of our actions, to weigh the possible outcomes. It is the ability to balance our passions with reason, our faith with the realities of the world. And it is the fear of the fool, the fear of falling into his trap of thoughtless action, that spurs us to cultivate this wisdom within ourselves."
The Diviner took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Let us not forget the lessons of our history, my brothers and sisters. Let us not forget the times when folly, masquerading as wisdom, led our people down the path of destruction. Let us fear the fool, not with a mindless terror, but with the fear of recognition, the fear of seeing our own potential for folly reflected in his actions. For it is in that fear that we will find the strength to always choose the path of wisdom, to always act with the thoughtfulness and compassion that the Tribunal demands of us. The Ending of the Words is ALMSIVI."
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